


The Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy

by Ingi



Series: Author's Favorites [7]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins Saves the Day, Bilbo is So Done, Community: hobbit_kink, Crack, Gen, Gold Sick Thorin, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Humor, Minor Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Minor Fíli/Kíli, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingi/pseuds/Ingi
Summary: Conkers is a game of skill and fun, a perfect way to let off steam to prevent many in-families assassinations from ocurring, and most of all,training. Because in Hobbit culture, many things are sacred, but very few as sacred as generosity and constraint. And sometimes, of course, a hobbit becomes overly greedy.It happens even in the best of families —Bilbo's, even, has a perfect example,coughLobeliacough—, and so, the hobbits long devised a solution: the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy for Greediness.It works nine times out of ten, and the one that doesn't is usually due to death or severe injury meddling in the process.





	The Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> All the wonderful and carefully-crafted Hobbit works in my drafts, and this is what makes the cut. Unbelievable. Bottom line, guys: always check the kink-meme for inspiration.
> 
> This was made for [this](https://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14785.html?thread=26778049#t26778049) prompt from the Hobbit Kink Meme (which happened to have about 60% kink and 40% crack).

"Is this normal? I don't think this is normal," Kíli says, sounding even more confused than usual.

Bilbo can't really blame him, considering his beloved and usually level-headed uncle is currently diving head-first into the piles of gold of the throne room while cackling loudly. It is worth mentioning that no one has cleaned anything in here in literally _decades_. The gold might be all shinny and properly taken care of, because well, dragon, but even from where he's standing —as far away from Thorin as he can—, Bilbo can see all kind of bones intermingled with the gold, and the air is heavy with dust and the smell of dragon dung.

"Come join me in my quest to Erebor, nephew," Fíli mumbles, as he watches the spectacle with his most long-suffering stare. "It will be glorious, nephew, you'll see. Our kingdom is the most glamorous of all kingdoms, _especially_ more than the elven kingdoms, but not in an elven way, of course, just-"

The rest of the Company is also very preoccupied with the gold, but no one is going nearly as far as Thorin is, thank Yavanna. This is already a scene Bilbo will never manage to get out of his head. And to think, he's in love with a dwarf who has no trouble with the passionate kissing of gold crowns. With _tongue_.

"Is this a dwarf thing?" Kíli insists, despite being very obviously a dwarf himself.

Bilbo makes sure to inform him, just in case he has forgotten about it. It is a real possibility.

But Kíli only stares at him, unblinking, and very unimpressedly raises a brow in a way that reminds eerily of the brother he usually doesn't look like at all. Considering he had been groping said brother with enthusiasm only a little while ago, Bilbo believes himself in his right to be thoroughly disturbed.

"Yes, I am a dwarf," Kíli says, slowly. He looks briefly at his brother in a way that could mean either _Hobbits, huh_ or _Back me up here before I am forced to brutishly mold a sword with my bare hands to prove how very dwarvish I am_. Fíli is too busy acerbically quoting Thorin's claims of dignity and poise —wonderful background for the King Under the Mountain to cry in joy all over his treasure— to notice. "What I meant was," Kíli continues, "why are Fíli and I not affected?"

Well, Bilbo cannot be sure, of course, but he believes it may have something to do with how the madness had shone in their eyes for about an instant, and then was miserably snuffed out when Kíli picked a pendant up and tried to put it around Fíli's neck, only to get distracted and use it to pull his brother closer, after which the aforementioned groping happened. And happened. And _kept happening_.

"You already have something far more precious than any treasure," Bilbo cautiously replies, biting words back. "Mere gold couldn't have the same hold on you."

It's the delicate way of putting it. Delicate to the extreme, and only slightly removed from reality, in fact. No one up or down or sideways Bilbo's family tree would dare claim he's not the perfect hobbitish diplomat now, and Bilbo has an _humungous_ family tree. So big that the gods are constantly trying to cut some branches down by, Bilbo suspects, inspiring Lobelia to be the rude, gossiping, thieving hag she is.

Oh, but there are ways and ways to deal with her, and if Thorin doesn't get a hold of himself and starts behaving like a proper king-

Bilbo's trail of thought gets interrupted by Kíli, who has apparently been so inspired by his carefully constructed explanation that he's leaning into his brother and muttering Yavanna knows what into his ear. Bilbo can't and _doesn't want_ to hear, but somehow he doubts it has anything to do with the current situation. Although, considering the way these two are eyeing the gold, a pile or two of the less uncomfortable part of the treasure might be involved.

So Bilbo strategically decides to leave the room —gentlehobbits don't run, but they have mastered the art of walking away really, _really_ fast— and forgets all about Lobelia and the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy. At least for a while.

 

 

Hobbits have wondeful eye-hand coordination.

It's something they're usually born with, like the hairy feet or the ability to conserve their manners even while in the most contrary of circumstances —because if a hobbit doesn't conserve their manners, _who in this gods-forsaken land of brutes will_ —, and most of them hone this talent from very young. Children, if they feel like being pests and haven't learned how to respect other living beings just yet, tend to pelt birds and other small creatures with stones. For everyone else —everyone who has been civilized to a proper hobbitish standard—, there's conkers.

Conkers is a game of skill and fun, a perfect way to let off steam to prevent many in-families assassinations from ocurring, and most of all, _training_. Because in Hobbit culture, many things are sacred, but very few as sacred as generosity and constraint. And sometimes, of course, a hobbit becomes overly greedy. It happens even in the best of families —Bilbo's, even, has a perfect example, _cough_ Lobelia _cough_ —, and so, the hobbits long devised a solution: the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy for Greediness.

It works nine times out of ten, and the one that doesn't is usually due to death or severe injury meddling in the process.

Which- well. It _is_ an indesirable conclusion, but it does get rid of the greediness. Forever, even. And of course, serious cases rarely occur, greatly lowering the risk of such issues either way by requiring only a light hit-

Because, should a Hobbit ever become overly greedy, smacking them in the head with a rock from a distance tends to act as a reminder of the finest things in life. Mostly, how much better it is to _not_ get a flying projectile to the face over, say, your great-great-cousin's prized tomato pie, which _yes, Magnolia, everyone sitting on this table can see you having your fourth slice of while your sister grows hungry_.

But it's more of a reprimand than anything, really! Many young hobbits take great joy in bouncing small pebbles off Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' head after she tries to make off with Bilbo's silver spoons —Bilbo may or may not encourage this, but only for the sake of the youngsters' education, of course—, which happens so often that before going off on a journey with thirteen mad dwarves, Bilbo had been seriously worrying about permanent damage. And considering the use of bigger rocks.

Well, in sum, it is always good to keep in mind the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy for Greediness.

Especially, as it happens, if you're trapped in the ruins of a proud city with the King Under the Mountain, who just _will not stop_ lovingly caressing his gold.

 

 

"Is the King... alright?" Bofur hesitantly asks.

Bilbo doesn't even bother raising his gaze from the board.

It would usually be an unforgivably rude gesture, but it turns out Fíli and Kíli are _horribly_ good at chess, despite pretending otherwise for nearly an entire game, and Bilbo's reputation —and pride— is at stake. He did not endure years of losing to his mother in the most humilliating manners to now lose to these two. Besides, it's Kíli's turn to play, and Bilbo is burning with the need to figure out his strategy, which, to date, seems to consist mostly of random and ill-advised shifting of pieces until the last few moves, when Bilbo's always startled to find himself trapped into a corner he can't get out of.

"How does he _do_ that?" he hisses to Fíli, after Kíli cheerfully captures his king for the third time this afternoon.

Fíli only shrugs, as baffled as Bilbo himself. Bilbo would try to ask whether Kíli actually has a strategy and they just can't see it or, even worse, he just has an amount of luck that no living creature should be afforded, but he's terrified the answer would force him into another mad adventure, this one affectionately titled _How Is This Fair, Mahal, How Is This Even Possible, Can't A Hobbit Win A Single Game, Fix This Right Now Immediately Or I Will Smack You, I Swear To Your Wife_. Or, for short, _Bilbo Baggins Gets Banned From The Afterlife_.

When he stands up to stretch a little before the next game —at least _Fíli_ has some sort of strategy to figure out for sure, thank Yavanna—, uncomfortably aware of the way every single gold coin has been digging into his flesh for the last few hours, Bofur is still there, nervously wringing his hands.

"Oh," Bilbo says, embarrassed despite himself. "'ullo. Do you need anything, Bofur?"

" _Bilbo_ ," Kíli sing-songs, while he clears the board with his brother's help. "Don't get distracted, there's a loser trophy here with your name on it."

"Yes, I know, it's a gold coin," Bilbo replies with a sigh. "The same as the winner trophy. The other several millions, in fact. And for now there are no one's names engraved anywhere, but I'm certain it can be arranged." A rage-filled scream, one of many this afternoon, cuts through the brief silence. Bilbo grimaces and gestures with one hand in Thorin's direction, without looking. "Considering _that_."

"Uhm, yes, _that_ is what I came to discuss," Bofur insists.

In the space between Bilbo's blinking, everyone in the Company has joined them. Their little chess game —now an impromptu battle to death between Fíli and Kíli— is surrounded by a multitude of concerned-looking dwarves. Even Dwarlin seems to be a little unsure, and Bilbo's referring to a dwarf who looks and regularly acts like he could crush an orc with his thighs like a grape.

"Ah," Bilbo says, for lack of anything better.

"Did you get tired of rolling around in the treasure?" Fíli huffs, rolling his eyes.

"There was a priceless parchment with gold binding and gold writing," Ori whispers. The expression in his face is as intense as it can be expected when he talks about books, but it still doesn't look quite right. "From the ages of-"

"Yes, yes, it was fun," Nori interrupts, slapping Ori's arm. "But our most revered King Under the Mountain is starting to creep me out. If I wanted drool-covered coins I would've put my part under Bombur's mouth on a rabbit stew night."

"It's Gold Sickness," Balin says, gravely, in the kind of voice that he has probably been saving for when one of them inevitably died horribly in their quest. He's probably delighted he has an opportunity to use it now, since they seem to be defeating all the odds and staying alive like they know what they're doing at all. In fact, it's like being inside of one of those barrels all over again, completely confused and with their trip route out of their control. Even the urge to puke is there. "It did not affect us as strongly, but Thorin has gone mad."

"I did suspect when he started yelling about the Arkenstone," Glóin comments. "And threatening the piles of treasure with painful death if they didn't part to reveal it. The interrogation of the portrait of Queen Taérin was a sign as well, I believe, and-"

Madness. Gold Sickness.

Bilbo had forgotten all about it, distracted with chess and screaming and really uncomfortable coins, but- those are names for greed, for the dwarves. Greed, which one can easily get rid of with the help of some good aim and a big enough rock... like the rather lovely stone Bilbo has had in his pocket for the past few hours.

And Bilbo just happens to be the ten-years-straight Conkers Champion of the Shire.

"But our King-"

"We can't let him ruin the Kingdom! We've literally just gotten it back-"

"I will not raise my sword against-"

Bilbo slowly takes the Arkenstone out of his pocket. He's lucky Thorin's giving him his back, but still, he wouldn't put it past him and his gold-senses to _feel_ the darned rock being nearby. He could still aim just fine, of course, but these things tend to give rather more damage with targets on movement, and the Mountain _does_ need a king, albeit a rational one, one who walks to places instead of swimming there through his family's heirlooms.

And most importantly, Bilbo hasn't waded through the unbearable storm that is Thorin's temper for months for _nothing_.

"It can't be cured! We have to-"

"Kíli, I can't believe you, are you _cheating_? This is the second time you-"

"Alright, so what if we let the dragon-"

It is a delicate shot, with Thorin being as unpredictable as he's being, but Bilbo's managed worse. He raises his arm, carefully pulls it back to aim. Thorin chooses that very moment to emerge from under a jewel-encrusted scepter, the beginnings of yet another furious scream already hanging in the air, and Bilbo _beams_.

"I'm not cheating! This is how chess works, and if-"

"But the Sickness-"

"Everyone! Everyone, please calm down, we have to be rational and-"

And he _shoots_.

 

 

"Am I dead?" Thorin whispers, some good twenty minutes later.

He's been laying on the dusty ground —well out of the way of the _coins_ — for just as long, mouth still open and a bump steadily growing on his head, in the exact point Bilbo was aiming for. _Of course_. His mother didn't raise a poor shooter.

"WHAT?" Óin yells, because even when the screaming stops, _the screaming never stops_ , such is the nature of Bilbo's new life. And then, to the rest of the Company, "I think he's trying to speak, that's a good sign."

"Good to have you back," Dwalin says, so softly that he might've as well not said anything at all. He wipes away a single tear and pats the King Under the Mountain on the back. "Now get up, we have things to do. Like clean all that gold. With _fire_."

Thorin has curled up into himself and is currently whimpering miserably, covering his ears.

"Stop screaming," he hisses. "Why is everyone screaming. I don't want to hear about your _gold_. Just leave me to die."

"See?" Bilbo says, proud. Fíli and Kíli, one on each of his sides to _hold him back in case he feels like attacking the King again_ , according to Balin —who frankly looked relieved at the thought—, snort. "I told you it'd work."

" _Pain_ ," Thorin says, quietly but with feeling. "So much pain."

"Oh, trust me, the headache is perfectly normal after applying this remedy," Bilbo adds, to both Thorin and the other dwarves, who keep staring between their king and him with suspicion-filled eyes. "Either his mind is fixing its priorities after the Sickness or I cracked his skull."

"Twenty coins for the cracked skull," Kíli says, in what he probably believes to be a whisper. Probably. It really is hard to tell what he's thinking, if he is at all.

Bilbo doesn't have to look to know that Fíli has cuffed him on the back of the head, vaguely imitating the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy, and that he almost definitely is accepting the bet either way. Except maybe exchanging the coins for something that still has some value, like Bombur's blueberry cake or Kíli's hand in marriage —Bilbo'd still rather not know, just in case—.

"Well, he'll survive," Óin dictaminates, after palpating the new and very impressive bump on the regal head of the King Under the Mountain. "But he won't be able to wear the crown for a good while, I don't think."

Thorin makes some kind of intelligible noise in response.

It could be _It's alright_ or it could be _Thank you, Bilbo_. There's a non-nelligible possibility of it being _Kill me_.

Bilbo only hopes they can leave this minor incident behind them soon.

 

 

Exactly two years later, the appropiate time for a Dwarvish courting and the preparation of a king's wedding —along with yet another royal wedding _at the same time_ , which on hindsight wasn't the best of their ideas, especially considering the grooms involved—, the Company dramatically recalls the tale of That Time Bilbo Almost Killed Our King. _Again_.

It's possibly the hundreth time.

"And then I said to Bifur, I said," Bofur happily goes on, well-used to telling this part, "Well, cousin, if there's two things we have learnt from this, it's these: one, never earn the anger of a hobbit-"

"It was medicinal!" Bilbo complains, like every single time. And like every single time, it goes unheard.

"-and two, if you have a little Gold Sickness problem, go get yourself a hobbit!"

The room, enormous as it is, roars with laughter. Even Thranduil seems to be enjoying the show, if the way he's choking and shedding joyful tears is any indication, although whether it's because of the apparent hilarity of the story or because of the principle of hitting dwarves with a rock is anyone's guess.

"It. Was. _Medicinal_!"

Fíli pats his back, not bothering to hide his grin behind his cup of mead.

"Of course, Bilbo. Of course."

"It's an actual hobbit remedy! The Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy for Greediness!" Even more laughter, and Bilbo, frankly, has had enough. Even his now-husband and supposed butt of the joke is wheezing. Bilbo whips around and points, accusingly, "Gandalf!"

The wizard —also laughing, because the gods do not love Bilbo, despite allowing him to marry the King Under the Mountain— straightens a little, understanding Bilbo's plea. The last time he'd been told the story, mere days after it'd occurred, he had been too busy cackling to actually back Bilbo up, which left a certain hobbit with an entire Company's worth of dwarves staring suspiciously at him for _weeks_. Bilbo is getting his due, and he's getting it _now_.

"It is!" Gandalf finally says, still beaming. "The Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy for Greediness, indeed. A good smack on the head with a stone! Very clever creatures, hobbits."

Thorin perks up immediately.

If Bilbo knows him at all —and seeing as they have just gotten married, he'd like to think he does—, he's already plotting how to include the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy in his political relations with elves, _to respect the Beloved Consort's hobbit traditions, you see_.

With a long, hard sigh, Bilbo fills his cup with mead and slowly brings it to his lips.

And then he stops, and he raises it instead, beaming, to propose a toast that doesn't include any kind of murder-related-but-not-really memories. Not any that can be traced back to him, anyway.

It _is_ his wedding day, after all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy. Hope you enjoyed - now I'll quickly exit stage left to fill more terrible prompts from the kink meme.


End file.
